Warzone is Serious Business!
by White Wolf Zita
Summary: -RvB/Halo AUverse- A young Spartan shadows a group of more ordinary soldiers as part of his training. Unfortunately, they are some of the most inept people he will ever meet, stationed in the middle of nowhere...
1. Scott, Yankee 016

YOU ARE IN: The Green Continuum, a sort of hybrid of Halo and Red vs Blue with some of my occasional brain-thoughts thrown in.  
YOU ARE HERE: Several months after the end of RvB, over 800 years into the war with the Covenant if you're counting by that, in a canyon in Blood Gulch just to the north of the one occupied by the Red and Blue outposts.  
WITH: The Green Army, the faction stuck fighting the Covenant while the Reds and Blues are busy fighting over... flags? Also, the only faction to still maintain a force of Spartans.

Now without further adieu:

* * *

**Warzone is Serious Business!  
An affectionate if insane nudge to the Halo/RvBverse by White Wolf Zita**

* * *

Scott, more officially Yankee-016, was not quite sure what to expect from this assignment. The only thing the young Spartan knew was he was going to be separated from the rest of his unit for about a week or so to learn how to function on his own with ordinary soldiers if he had to. Already, Scott had some serious misgivings.

The first of these had come when he met the only officer in Omega Squadron, their sergeant. According to the limited intel Scott had been given, there were four soldiers in Omega Squadron along with one mercenary. The last he'd checked, which had been the minute he got the files, five people did not a squadron make. Even stranger, the sergeant had been under orders to stay aboard the ship _Albatross_ since before Outpost Omega was even built, and nobody had thought to move her.

Scott met her when he himself was aboard the ship on its way to the outpost.

"Eh, this the Spartan?" was the response when he was introduced. It was kind of hard not to notice Spartans, even with a heavily pared down version of the MJOLNIR being standard issuef. It was mostly the size that did it. Even though Scott wasn't finished growing yet, he was expected to hit seven feet and had already cleared six by a good five inches. The armor made him look even bigger.

"Yes, he's your responsibility for a week," replied the lieutenant to Scott's left.

"Cool." The sergeant held out a white-gauntleted hand for Scott to shake. "Sergeant Wolf, Omega Squadron. Proud to have ya aboard, though I confess I don' know why we were selected."

"Yankee-016," Scott replied, "The pleasure is mine. I know less than you." It was true, Scott had been given astoundingly basic info about Omega Squadron or its outpost, he didn't even know where it was located. It was all part of teaching him to be ready for anything.

Wolf nodded absently.

"So, what exactly 'm I s'posed to do for him?" she asked the lieutenant. The man shrugged. Scott had by this point decided that Wolf and the lieutenant knew eachother quite well. He shuddered to consider the idea that this hideous informality was the _norm_ around here.

"If Command's still not putting you planetside, it's probably just going to be your squadron showing him the ropes for a week. You just make sure he gets there."

Wolf snorted. "My squadron showin' a Spartan the ropes. Tha's a laugh or three." She looked back at Scott. "Soldier, before this even gets off the ground, I think it's my duty as a fellow human bein' to tell you that this next week of yer life will be a complete an' absolute waste a' your time."

"I have my orders," Scott replied flatly, rather taken aback by the nonchalance with which Wolf could scorn hers. The sergeant shrugged.

"Dun take me wrong, I do what I'm told. They didn' tell me I couldn' warn ya, though. Jes' believe you me, son, I'm havin' a hard time seein' a way that you're gonna come out a' this any smarter'n you are right now. Tha's all, can't say I didn' tell ya straight."

"I'll be advised, Sergeant," said Scott, though he was really starting to wonder exactly what he _was_ in for. Conditions on this ship were not exactly up to code when compared to any other facility Scott had experienced in his life. (Although he himself would admit that life was so far very short and, in its own way, sheltered.)

Among the chief of the oddities was the captain. He was a nerve-wracked man in his mid to late thirties with only about sixty percent of his hair the acceptable regulation length, only half his face shaved, and a manic twitch that developed over his left eye whenever this was mentioned. To make matters worse his name was, in all complete honesty and official record, Eddie Eddy. If Scott was to believe what he had overheard during breakfast that morning, the poor man's middle name was also Edward.

Wolf, as she told Scott over mess a few days into the trip, felt bad for him.

"Poor old Cap'n, yeh seen 'im? (Scott nodded.) Unluckiest guy there ever was. 'Enever he gets round to tryin' to clean hisself up all sharp like we're s'posed ta, somethin' comes up about halfway through. Never fails. I been on this ship six years and he's never been clean shaven but twice. First time was the day I met 'im, day he got the ship as a matter a' fact."

"And the second time?" asked Scott, because he was curious.

Wolf shrugged. "Ever'body gets lucky sometimes, I guess. Even the cap'n."

* * *

I'm not the type to demand reviews, I write for my own amusement. They are, however, appreciated.  
Just a reminder: This is NOT serious business. :D I reserve the right to be stupid. You've been warned, savvy?  
(PS: If anyone's curious about the Greens, go poke around my DA account. (link in profile) There's a lot more stuff there.)

Thanks for the click!  
-Zita


	2. Outpost Omega

"Well, this is it."

Indeed it was. Scott peered out of the ship's belly down the gangplank at Outpost Omega, getting a first impression of the place. Sergeant Wolf was standing beside him, looking at the base with a certain amount of pride. Scott had, by this point, decided she was more than a bit mad. That was the popular opinion of the crew of the _Albatross_ on the subject, too. Wolf, however, didn't seem to mind.

"Tha's Outpost Omega, where I'd be if anybody had any sense 'round here instead a' leavin' me to rot on this tub." To emphasize the point, Wolf stomped one boot on the deck of said tub.

Outpost Omega.

It wasn't much.

The installation was, first of all, circular. Made of concrete, with a few protrusions on the top bearing Green Army emblems. It seemed very bare and showed no real signs of fortification. The locale, or at least what Scott could see of it looking down the gangplank, was more interesting. It wasn't that the place itself was interesting, it was in all appearances your average bone-dry box canyon with a few rocks and the occasional stunted tree. Oh, and some sort of incredibly hardy green plantlife in patches on the ground. The thing that was interesting to Scott was why the outpost was even here at all, and he couldn't come up with a logical answer right then and decided to hold judgment until he knew a bit more about it. There had to be _some_ good reason to build an outpost in the bottom of a box canyon in the middle of nowhere, right? Then again, if Wolf was to be believed, this would be a waste of time. Maybe there was no point.

But point or no, Scott had an assignment to fulfill.

"Better get down there and get settled, I suppose," he said.

Wolf sighed. "Yeah, that. Follow me, wouldja?"

Scott did. Wolf lead down and out of the ship and they made their way across the canyon. The ground rippled up in steep, sudden hills that made this a bit of a slower process than it should have been. Scott's boots kicked up yellow-orange dust, evidence of how little water there was out here. As they came down the last hill before the base, a figure appeared on the roof.

"I thought I heard something! That you, Wolf?" a voice crackled out of the com.

"Course it's me! Who'dja 'spect, yer ex-girlfriend?" Wolf snapped, then laughed. "Didja get the update from Command?"

The man on the roof jogged down one of the side ramps and came over to them and Scott got a better look at him. His armor was yellow. That was the usual for a Green fresh out of training, that or heavily demoted. Just from the generally goodnatured tone of his voice, Scott suspected the former.

"I think so..." said the soldier, now identified on Scott's HUD as Davis, Gregory (PVT).

"This is... Whajer name again, Spartan?"

"Yankee-016," Scott replied.

"That," Wolf said with a nod of thanks before looking back to Davis. "Y'all're gonna be lookin' after him for a week."

Davis looked at Scott, Wolf, Scott, and back at Wolf again. "Wait, _what?!"_

"Thought you said you got the update," said Wolf. "He's gonna be here for a week to learn how ta work with us regular guys. This a problem?"

"I don't _think_ so," said Davis carefully. "I remember that part of the message now that you mention it, I thought they were just trying to be funny. Why would they pick _us?_ We'll just be wasting his time."

Wolf shrugged. "All I know is Command's never funny."

Davis sighed. "I'll go get Holcomb. I'm surprised the others aren't out here by now, I guess I'm the only one that heard you land." He turned and headed into a doorway in the side of the base.

"Sergeant?" asked Scott, a rather disturbing thought clicking into place in his mind.

"Eh?"

"When was the last time this outpost saw any sort of combat?"

Wolf thought for a moment. "Well, there 'as that one time... wait, no, that 'as an accident, self-inflicted y'know..." After a few more seconds of brainracking, she shrugged. "Never," she said finally.

"I thought so," Scott replied tonelessly. He was starting to become seriously disillusioned with whoever had come up with this idea, and it was happening very fast. "What is this installation's function?"

Wolf shrugged. "Wasting resources, I think. Was s'posed to be used to monitor the Red and Blue bases in the next canyon over but the next canyon over is, well, the next canyon over. Kinda hard to do that through a whole lotta rock. Gotta wonder what Command was smokin'."  
Scott just nodded, feeling a part of his soul bleed.


	3. Omega Squadron

Davis returned, this time with three other people. Scott set to committing them to memory. There was a short man in green armor (Gunther, Jacob (PFC)), a more normally sized soldier in sage (Holcomb, Matthew (PFC)), and lastly a tall man in grey armor with red on the insets bearing a sniper rifle slung casually over one shoulder. His identification was the most unusual as well, just Ohio (FRL). Freelancer. Mercenary. Hired gun. Scott still didn't like the idea and probably never would, people that fought for money just didn't seem like the most trustworthy bunch to throw in your lot with. But if you needed every man you could get, you needed every man you could get.

It was Ohio that spoke up first. "So, you're the Spartan?" he asked Scott.

"Yes."

"Yankee-016," Davis added helpfully. "I remembered."

"Well, welcome to the team," said Ohio, extending a hand. Scott shook it politely.

"Hello," said Holcomb, just to get over that particular formality. He looked back to Wolf. "I thought Command was just trying to be funny," he said, sounding slightly scandalized.

"Well, they wasn'." Wolf shrugged. "Y'should know Command by now. April firs' ain't special to 'em. Humorless bastards."

Ohio, meanwhile, introduced Scott to the squadron. "I'm Ohio, resident freelancer. You already met Wolf and Davis. Wolf's in charge, at least when she's here, and Davis is the rookie. That's Holcomb, he _thinks_ he's in charge. And this is Jake, resident pilot," he explained, indicating the other soldiers by name. He nudged Gunther. "Jake, be nice and say hi."

"Hi," Gunther said, more of a snarl than a word. Still, the voice was quite distinctly feminine.

"She's kinda mean," Ohio added with a note of apology.

"You're on... first name terms?" Scott asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow to himself in the privacy of his helmet.

"I'll answer to Gunther if it's too much trouble for you," Jake replied curtly, then turned her attention back to the mercenary. "If you touch me again, I will kill you," she said.

"Jake," said Holcomb warningly, having overheard. Jake inclined her head a few degrees and said nothing. She was probably scowling, but was at least attempting to appear contrite. Holcomb looked back at Wolf. "Okay, so, what exactly are we supposed to do?"

"I couldn' tell ya, really," said Wolf. "I guess yeh just do what ya normally do and answer any questions." She looked over at Scott. "That soun' right, Spartan?"

Scott, who was beginning to accept that his name was going to be "Spartan" from here on out, shrugged one shoulder. "Yes ma'am."

"Well then," said Wolf, clapping her hands together in a business-like manner, "I s'pose I'll be goin' now. Y'all take care, we need this kid back in one piece."

"Does he still have to be breathing?" asked Ohio innocently.

"Whaddya think?" Wolf snarled.

"Just ignore him, that's what the rest of us do," Jake advised Scott.

Ohio folded his arms. "I like to know the details of any contract I get, Jake. Is it such a crime?"

"When you're stupid, yes."

"Guys, c'mon. Seriously," Holcomb sighed. "Good luck, sergeant," he added to Wolf.

"See y'all in a week," Wolf replied, and jogged off back to the ship. Omega Squadron watched as it lifted off carefully out of the canyon.

"So..." said Davis finally.

"Indeed," Ohio replied after a few seconds of utter silence.

Scott thought for a moment, watching how slowly the dust settled. Something seemed... off. "How much gravity is there out here?"

"A little less than Earth normal," Holcomb replied. "I can't remember the exact figure. You can jump off the roof and land on your feet without jarring your knees too bad, if that helps any." Scott nodded. He'd suspected as much, he'd felt the change when he and Wolf walked to the base.

"We also get two seasons," added Davis "The hot season, and the really hot season. It takes an expert to tell the difference, though." He added that last bit with some pride, from which Scott inferred that Davis probably knew the difference.

"We might as well show you the base," Holcomb said, turning to go back inside. "Not much else to do, anyway."

"That's why we listen to Holcomb most of the time," Ohio said. "He has all the good ideas."

Scott followed Omega Squadron inside, finding the base's interior to be a bit less cramped than he'd thought. It seemed well-lit and clean, at the very least. The main hall ended in a large, rectangular room with a plastic table and chairs, all foldable, in the middle. There was a refridgerator, a re-hydration unit, a sink, and a bit of counter space that was home to a lonely, battered toaster at one end and a microwave at the other, showing evidence of scorching around the door. In one corner of the room there was a communications console that had seen better days. Or better centuries, more likely. The last piece of furniture was an extremely battered sofa against one wall with bits of stuffing coming out, the upholstery of an indeterminate color that managed to be green, grey, blue, and red all at once. Immediately to their right was a staircase, presumably leading to the roof.

"Home sweet home," said Ohio.

"Or Hell, if you prefer. We don't differentiate much," Gunther added, dropping the sharp, cold tone of earlier for one of tired resignation.

"This is the main room," Holcomb explained, waving a hand. "That's what we call it, anyway. It's for eating, the com, and wasting time."

"We do a lot of that," Davis said, so brightly it made something twitch with horror in Scott's mind. Holcomb led on to the left into another hall. It was a bit narrow for the lot of them to be in at the same time, only designed for two people to pass with minimal comfort. There were five doors, two on each side and one at the end.

"This is where we live," Holcomb said. "These rooms here are personal quarters. The door at the end of the hall is the control room. That's where the water pump is, and the generator, and the wallbox of emergency buttons. Panic button, blast door controls, you get the drill. Davis isn't allowed to touch them anymore."

"I've said I was sorry!" Davis protested.

"That doesn't make it okay," snapped Jake. Scott had to wonder what Davis had done with the emergency buttons, but after brief considertion decided he actually didn't want to know.

"Okay, everybody back up. It was a bad idea to come down here, it's kinda small." They moved out of the narrow corridor in reverse order and Holcomb made his way back to the front. He pointed out the hallway on the right wall of the main room toward the far end.

"That's the secondary hall. We came in through the main one. We don't really know why we have two, but we do."

"Probably strategic or something," put in Ohio thoughtfully. "If one gets blocked off, you can get out the other."

"Don't we have the roof for that?" Davis asked him.

Ohio shrugged. "Well, maybe, but it's good to have all your bases covered."

"That was a crap pun!" Davis crowed triumphantly, jabbing a finger at Ohio.

"Wait, _what?!_"Ohio took a step back, swatting Davis' hand aside as he figured out what the rookie had caught in his last sentence that he hadn't. Then he swore.

"The whole "bases covered" thing when we're talking about defending an outpost," Davis explained, folding his arms. "How do you plead?" he demanded.

"Not guilty, dammit!"

Holcomb continued almost obliviously as they argued whether or not a pun could be a crap pun if it was unintentional, so Scott guessed that they either did this all the time or Holcomb had just given up on keeping them focused. "And that doorway there," he went on, pointed out the one across from the secondary hall but a little closer to the far wall, "leads to the store room and the toilet. Toilet's on the right, flush and put the seat down when you're done or Jake will rip your face off."

"Damn straight," Jake said with a firm nod. Scott doubted she could, but something made him feel pretty sure she wasn't above trying anyway.

"We only get to bathe once every three months or so when we get a fresh water tank, so don't worry about the shower. You're only gonna be here for a week, but still. It helps if you try not to think about it."

"Noted," Scott replied.

"The store room's where we keep supplies. Ammo and food, mostly. We try to ration stuff, but if you need ammo I'm pretty sure we've got more than we're ever gonna need. And, well, that about does it for the inside of the base." Holcomb shrugged. "The last thing is A-BOB."

"A-BOB...?"

"Our robot." Holcomb turned to Davis. "Davis, you seen A-BOB?"

"Um, why're you asking me?" the younger man replied, breaking off easily from his argument mid-sentence. Ohio folded his arms and leaned against the wall to wait.

"I'm asking you because he seems to like you best," Holcomb replied. "So, seen him?"

"Nope." And without pause he was back to making whatever point he'd been trying to make in the crap pun debate. Holcomb sighed.

"Alright, we gotta find A-BOB."

"I know where he is," said Jake.

"Wait, what? You do?" Holcomb sounded surprised.

"Yeah. Follow me." Jake, instead of walking around Ohio and Davis to get back to the main hall, opted to go across the room to the secondary. Holcomb fell into step behind her and Scott after him, leaving Davis and Ohio to bring up the rear if they were so inclined.

"Dare I ask why you know where he is?" asked Holcomb resignedly.

"Because he got on my nerves. I told him to go away."

"Why do I get the feeling you were more specific than that?"

"Because you know me too well."


End file.
